Dream Catcher
by Venefica Atra
Summary: A ficlet. Harry doesn’t dream because dreams are filled with happiness. Draco doesn’t sleep because he wants to make Harry happy.


Disclaimer: I claim absolutely nothing - zero, zilch, nada - it all belongs to JKR. I'm just another fan girl.

Notes: H/D, of course. This was a straight through kind of muse-abuse creation. I just sat down and forced myself to write until it was done. It was suppose to be an exercise to warm me up and turned into a ficlet.

* * *

Harry always had nightmares; they were as much a part of him as the magic he was born with; just another part of himself that was just there, like his scar, permanent and stinging. Dreams were foreign and if Harry did dream, it was during the day, when he had control over his fantasies.

_Harry almost gave up on the concept of sleep as he stood at the fork in the road. He had two choices -- give in to the madness of his nightmares, stop fighting to consciousness or lay awake night after night, eyes wide pools of half-hearted escape. Everything just made him very tired._

_Just as Harry was about to let himself slip, letting loose his fingers one by one, just as he felt cold, empty air run between them, someone caught him. For a moment he just hung there, shocked that the darkness didn't swallow him. A pulse beat against his wrist through the tight grip, a scar, different but the same. He stretched his fingers to touch it..._

And woke up, feeling cool and light, his wrist ringed in red.

The next night, Harry didn't hesitate. He didn't stare at the brightness of the moon until his eyes were dry and burning. This time, he volunteered and maybe it had been a mistake.

_He felt the familiar panic, heard the familiar laughter and smelled the smells that wouldn't wash clean in the morning. It was always the same, blood on his hands and accusing echoes whispered in his ears. What was he thinking? His knees gave, but he didn't crumple. The arm around his waist was like fire against his cold sweat._

_This time he took the wrist and turned it over, he took his fingers and began to trace the damaged skin..._

And woke up. He wasn't tired and he wasn't scared. He felt safe.

...

"Harry, what did you do?"

"What? I don't understand."

"You haven't noticed?"

Pause.

"Look at him, Harry."

"He looks tired."

"Harry, he looks like death."

"It has nothing to do with me."

...

Harry thinks that maybe he is intentionally overlooking something, before his eyes flutter shut.

_He's standing at the fork again. He doesn't understand why he's there, because that fork is a means to an end. For once, he's not looking for it; he has other things on his mind. Again. He's surrounded by darkness._

_It was looking for him. This time, it would come for him. It would make him choose. Harry feels his scar burst with pain and he falls to his knees. A familiar feeling of resignation begins to crawl up his spine._

_"Get up." A voice cuts through his pain. "For fuck's sake, get up."_

_So Harry does and for a moment, he thinks it's a spell, a curse. Until he blinks and sees a third path in the fork, solid and made of white marble. His footsteps echo in an unwavering pattern and he really isn't as surprised as he should be by the person waiting at the end of it._

_A hand stretches out, stopping him, palm on his chest over his heart._

_"Do you understand?"_

_Harry feels the voice travel in vibrations to his chest. He doesn't think he does. So, instead he takes the out-stretched arm, pale and flawless like the path he took to get there, and turns it over..._

Harry wakes up. He feels cheated. And maybe a little bit angry.

...

Harry finds him alone in the library.

"What do you think you're doing to me?" Anger.

"Is it always about you?" Biting.

"Why?"

There was a long pause.

"Atonement."

...

Harry sets his glasses on his nightstand. He thinks he understands now and his breathing evens and slows.

_Harry finds him sitting on a sofa made of white marble streaked with silver-gold, much like the boy himself._

_"Atonement." Harry says this more to himself than anyone, and sits down._

_"I can't stop even if I wanted to," He says finally._

_"But you don't, do you, that's why..."_

_Harry doesn't finish, instead, he reaches for his arm and warmth spreads through him. He never noticed till now, that he was always felt like ice. He turns it over and there it is, the mark that represents everything he's ever hated and ever feared._

_This is Draco's scar._

_Harry traces his fingers over the darkness contrasting on pale. He doesn't feel pain or fear or anger. He only feels lightness and safety. And power._

_Harry understands why Draco's mark doesn't hurt him - sting him._

_He spreads his palm and covers the mark with his hand._

Everything went black.


End file.
